


Easier than Goodbye

by stardropdream



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kamui is dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easier than Goodbye

There is a ringing in his ears, but he can’t move. The world has tilted sideways and he feels the way his blood slowly stirs in his veins, attempts to heal him – but it is no good and it is already too late. He sees the boots at his eyelevel, knows when the man stumbles, feels one corner of his lip quirk up in a grimly satisfied expression. Good. Suffer. Suffer as he suffers. Die for all he cares. 

But perhaps he regrets the way he can see his brother screaming, attempting to reach them both, unsure which to reach for first. Perhaps he regrets the pain he’s caused his brother, as his lifeblood seeps out from his heart, beating too slowly to ever heal these wounds. 

And it hurts more than he thought it would, to see his brother waver and then choose – hurrying to that hunter’s side, screaming out blindly even though Kamui cannot hear the words over the ringing in his ears, the distant stirring of his blood. He closes his eyes to fight back the sharp bight of his tears, feeling his own emotions betray him even though, in the end, he is not surprised Subaru chooses Seishirou—

He just wishes he didn’t have to see it. 

He must have passed out, he thinks, because when he blinks his eyes open, his brother and that hunter are gone. He doesn’t know where to, or if it is too late. He attempts to move, but it is too late. His limbs do not respond. He is dying. That he is not already dead is amazing to him, but perhaps it is his own stubbornness, his distant wish to find his brother, to protect him even now. Even now when his brother has made that choice. 

For all the good it does him. That man will die, too, if he is not already dead. If his brother has not already turned him.

Again.

Kamui would laugh at it all, at his own failed attempts, at his own failed plans and actions and shortcomings. But he is too tired, too injured to laugh. He lies there, unmoving, his blood weakly giving up on healing him – and waits to die. 

And then he feels the distant rumble of footsteps, his ear pressed down the earth. He doesn’t move, couldn’t move even if he wanted to. But he watches, unmoving, unable to speak, as Fuuma kneels down in front of him, hunching down low, his own ear almost pressed to the ground so he can observe Kamui’s face. 

Kamui does not know where he has come from, does not know how long he has been lying here. Fuuma’s expression is grim, and really, Kamui is surprised that it is Fuuma’s face he will see now, the last thing he will see before he dies. Fuuma studies his face, catches his eyes, and Kamui can’t move, can’t speak, can’t even blink, but there is a spark of recognition in his own eyes as he looks at Kamui.

He reaches out. Kamui sees the way his fingers press against his shoulder, studies the extent of his injuries. Kamui does not feel it. Feels no pain, no pleasure – nothing. It is as if he is not touched at all. 

And then Fuuma pulls a small vial, empty, from his pocket, and reaches out again, knife shining in his hand before he slices at Kamui’s skin – that must be what he’s doing, and despite the haze of his near-death, Kamui feels that sense of alarm, realizing just what Fuuma is doing. 

He attempts to move, some kind of delusion of self-preservation trying to win out against the slump of defeat that saturates his bones and muscles. But he is no match, because Fuuma is already drawing his hand back, the weakening lifeblood curling around in the small vial that Fuuma corks up, his expression distant and dim. 

Kamui tries to keep his eyes open and Fuuma shifts, leaning in close, lifting his hand and brushing the hair back from Kamui’s face. 

Fuuma says something, but Kamui does not hear the words, can’t understand them. Fuuma leans in, kisses him, and Kamui this time feels the way the teeth bite down hard into his lip until the blood blooms out of his mouth. Fuuma does not drink, at least Kamui does not think so – that is for a time later on. A time Kamui will not see. 

Fuuma says something again, seems to be waiting for an answer, and Kamui just closes his eyes, shaking his head. 

He lets himself die, the life seeping out of him, save for that little tiny vial where a sliver of his life still clings – now in Fuuma’s hands. Now Fuuma’s.


End file.
